


finger on the trigger

by Widowswebb



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Cockpit Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Doggy Style, F/M, Female Reader, Huddling For Warmth, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Light daddy kink, Mechanic!Reader, Mentioned Grogu | Baby Yoda, Not Canon Compliant, Penis In Vagina Sex, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Planet Hoth (Star Wars), Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Sharing a Bed, Tropes, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, Write the porn you wish to see in the world, accidental stow away, innocence kink, no y/n, the helmet comes off in the dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Widowswebb/pseuds/Widowswebb
Summary: “Who are you?” The modulated voice demands. Your eyes are wide and you’re having trouble remembering words, and you try to open your mouth to convey something to the man, but all that comes out is a squeak. The blaster presses more insistently to your abdomen. “I’m not going to ask again.”The threat finally kicks your brain back online and you’re stringing together what you beg the Maker is a logical sentence. “I’m the mechanic, Peli sent me in here because you don’t like the droids, please don’t kill me.”“Peli said you had gone home for the day, what the fuck are you doing here?” He asks. His arm relaxes minutely.“I was working on the nav panel. I think I lost track of time fixing the hyperdrive, and I didn’t hear you board. I swear.”Alternatively: The reader is an accidental stow away on the Crest. Also, he's going to Hoth. Oh, and the heat goes out and it's just too cold to sleep alone. What's a bounty hunter to do?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 191





	1. hoth

**Author's Note:**

> Deviating from my Boba Fett centric series and starting a Mandalorian series because it's rattling in my brain. This will probably be 3-4 parts.

Ok, you’ve been in worse situations than this one. 

You can’t think of one right now, but surely there’s at least one event in your life worse than accidentally stowing away in a bounty hunter’s ship. 

Honestly, this is Peli’s fault more than anything.

When the Razor Crest landed in Peli’s hangar on Mos Eisley, the woman had huffed out an exasperated sigh, gotten to her feet, and met the beskar clad Mandalorian outside her little office. You were trying to fix one of her droids, working on splicing two wires together, so your attention had been elsewhere. She had come back in, hauled you up, and brought you outside to the ship. The pilot was nowhere to be found.

“You’re up, kid,” she said, clapping you on the shoulder.

“You...you want me to work on this ship?” You asked, eyes taking it in.

“That’s right. Man hates droids.”

“This ship is garbage!”

“It’s garbage that still flies, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way.” She turned away, heading back to her office. 

“Wait, hold on, what am I even supposed to fix  _ first _ ?” You call after her, but she’s already closing the door on you. You turn back to ship. “Ok, all of it, great direction.”

You decide to start with the hyperdrive and navigation system after spending a few moments screwing around in the cockpit. The hyperdrive is staticky at best and no one wants to be ripped out of hyperspace with no warning. 

Disengaging one of the control panel walls, you crawl inside and it’s immediately clear the hyperdrive is in worse shape than you had expected, but you get to work pulling the wires out and reorganizing.

You’ve made some truly impressive progress on the hyperdrive. It’s nearly back to factory shape, so you’ve moved on to the nav panel, deeper in the ship. You’re running a diagnostic test, your attention fixed on the numbers flying across the data pad, trying to determine if there’s a line off in the programming, so you don’t even realize that the ship's owner has returned, boarded, raised the ramp, and engaged in take off.

And you’re still in the nav panel. 

_ You’re still in the kriffing nav panel on a ship that has taken off. _

You blink at your data pad. This is bad. You have no idea what to do next. Do you exit the panel and announce your presence to the trained killer piloting the ship? Do you wait for him to find you? Which is worse?

You’re truly about to lose your mind, but somehow your body actually moves to unplug your data pad and gather your tools back in their pouch. You scoot your way out of the nav panel, trying not to make much noise. You've just managed to stand up on the floor of the hull when the hyperdrive engages and you’re knocked back into one of the ship’s walls with a loud clang. 

A loud clang that the Mandalorian definitely fucking heard.

As soon as the autopilot is engaged he’s down the ladder to the hull and his blaster is biting into your stomach. 

“Who are you?” The modulated voice demands. Your eyes are wide and you’re having trouble remembering words, and you try to open your mouth to convey  _ something _ to the man, but all that comes out is a squeak. The blaster presses more insistently to your abdomen. “I’m not going to ask again.”

The threat finally kicks your brain back online and you’re stringing together what you beg the Maker is a logical sentence. “I’m the mechanic, Peli sent me in here because you don’t like the droids, please don’t kill me.”

“Peli said you had gone home for the day, what the fuck are you doing here?” He asks. His arm relaxes minutely. 

“I was working on the nav panel. I think I lost track of time fixing the hyperdrive, and I didn’t hear you board. I  _ swear _ .”

“You fixed the hyperdrive?” 

“Uh, yeah?”

“No wonder the jump was so smooth,” he says, almost to himself. The blaster finally lowers from your stomach and you suck in a relieved breath. The man takes a step back, placing his weapon back in the holster on his thigh. 

A squeaky cooing erupts from…the ground? Your eyes shoot down and take in the tiny creature clutching to the Mandalorian’s leg, big black black eyes trained on you and his big green ears perked. The man squats down and picks the creature up under its arms.

“You’re not supposed to climb down the ladder by yourself, kid,” he grunts out. You’re almost certain that your eyes are going to pop out of your skull at this point. This day can’t possibly get any weirder.

“What…what is that?” You ask. 

“This is my foundling.”

“Your foundling?”

“Yes. He’s my child until I can reunite him with his kind.”

“What’s his name?”

“I call him the Child. Or kid.”

The creature reaches out with three little fingers towards you. Your hand comes up, and when he clutches to your finger with a coo, you feel yourself smile. 

Ok, the kid is cute. His dad is  _ scary _ , but the kid is cute. And with a kid on board you’re fairly certain the bounty hunter isn’t going to just change his mind and shoot you.

You hope.

The kid is reaching out now with both hands and you move to grab the squirmy little thing from the man’s hold. He lets him go and you settle him on your hip. 

“So...now what?” You ask, shifting to hold the kid up to your face and puckering your lips. He squeals happily. “Do we...uh...turn around? Or should I get off at the next stop?”

“My next bounty is on Hoth.”

“Right. Please don’t leave me there.” He’s quiet, appraising you from behind the helmet. “Why would someone hide on Hoth?” 

“Because no one wants to go there.”

“Right.”

He’s silent again and you stare at him, waiting for him to offer some sort of solution. The kid wiggles in your grasp and the Mandalorian reaches out to take him back, turning and walking down the hall to his small bunk space. He roots around for a moment before pulling out a ration bar, unwrapping it and handing it over to the child.

It’s charmingly domestic. 

“There are three jobs I have to complete before I can head back to Tatooine. You can stay on the ship. If you manage to fix anything as well as you did the hyperdrive, I’ll even give you some credits for the trouble,” he offers. He moves to mount the ladder to the cockpit. “Stay here with the kid, we’ve got time. Before we drop from hyperspace.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you say. You’re a little surprised at the generous offer. “What uh...what should I call you?” 

“Mando is fine,” he tosses down before he’s closed in the cockpit and you’re left with the crumb covered child. 

____________________

In the safety of the cockpit, the Mandalorian sits in the pilot’s chair and lets out a deep breath, helmet tilted back to the headrest. 

_ Dank farrik.  _

This wasn’t part of his plan. Realistically, nothing that’s happened to him over the past few weeks has been part of any plan he’d ever imagined for himself. 

For example, acquiring a magical alien child.

But without a doubt, being stuck on his ship with a cute mechanic with no brain-to-mouth filter  _ definitely  _ didn’t fit his plan. 

And kriff, she is cute. All wide eyes, soft skin, and pretty plush lips. The way she’d looked up at him when he had a blaster pressed to her skin made his cock twitch. 

With a groan, he palms his dick, willing himself to calm down. He’s got a job to do, and he can’t afford the distraction. 

____________________

You’re locked in a staring contest with the child, sitting cross legged on the Mandalorian’s small cot with his little body balancing on your lap. His head tilts, soft green ears flopping with the motion. 

“So, what do we do now?” You ask him. His ears twitch, but he otherwise doesn’t let out any sort of noise in response. You let out a dramatic sigh and the child wiggles out of your lap, ambling over to the bag that you had seen Mando digging through for food. “You already ate, I don’t think you need a snack,” you mutter as your arms reach out to pull him back to your lap. He lets out a despondent little whine at being thwarted in his search for food. 

Your back is turned to the cockpit ladder, so you don’t notice when the Mandalorian descends it again until his modulated voice asks about what the child is crying about. It startles you so badly you nearly fall back and a gloved hand clamps on your shoulder to keep you from tumbling out of the bunk space. Your head whips around to look up at the man over your shoulder.

“ _ Kriff _ , how are you so quiet with all that armor,” you breathe out, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He doesn’t say anything, just slowly releases the hand on your shoulder. 

“What’s the kid want,” he grunts out again. You turn back to the child in your arms, who is now reaching out and making desperate little noises to his dad. Mando reaches over you and plucks him from your lap. “No more food, you little womp rat, it’s time for bed,” he says, turning away from you and heading to the other side of the hull.

He places the child in some sort of floating orb, arranging a nest of blankets around his form. You watch as the child’s eyes blink shut and Mando hits a button on the orb that closes him into the contraption. 

The Mandalorian turns back to you. 

“Get some sleep. You can take the bunk, I’ll be in the cockpit,” he says. You’re opening your mouth to reply, to tell him that’s not necessary, you can find somewhere else on the ship to bunk without taking his space, but the man is already ascending the ladder and disappearing from view. 

With a sigh, you lay back on the narrow cot and pull the scratchy blanket over your legs. Another blanket is wadded up as a makeshift pillow and you tentatively lay your head on it and close your eyes.

You fall asleep with the smell of soap and blaster cleaner surrounding you.

____________________

The Mandalorian pilots the Crest out of hyperspace and into the atmosphere of the ice planet. The bounty he’s locked on is a pretty mid-level criminal, nothing he expects to be difficult. He’s been tracked to a former Rebel base, probably the only structure on this Maker forsaken planet.

He’s lost in his head as he descends the ladder. A snuffling noise comes from his bunk and that’s when he remembers his new ship mate. 

You’re sprawled across the cot on your stomach, one arm folded around the makeshift blanket pillow, face smushed into its folds. The other arm, he’s surprised to see, is snaked around the child. You must have gotten him out of his pram at some point in the night. 

Your shirt is inched up over your pants, a sliver of your back visible in the low light of the hull. His gaze hungrily takes in this bit of skin and trails over your ass and thighs. 

_ Maker. _

You shift in your sleep, moving to lay more on your side. The child whines out a displeased sound and your eyes blink open at the noise. The Mandalorian shakes himself of his stupor before moving to the armory. Behind him, he hears you move about and calm the child before you sit up. 

You watch the Mandalorian inspect a blaster before sliding it into the holster on his hip. He picks out a pulse rifle next and slings that over his shoulder. 

Why...why do you find this attractive?

He finally turns to you and you stare into the featureless helmet, waiting for him to say something. He takes another step closer to the bunk.

“This shouldn’t take long. Three days, max. Stay on the ship, keep an eye on the kid,” he says, no nonsense in his tone. You have a feeling he’s already in bounty hunter mode, his attention is elsewhere. You nod, arms circling the kid a little more closely to your chest. He coos up at the man, and his helmet takes him in, reaching out a finger for him to grasp. “Be good.” 

Hearing him say that probably shouldn’t have made you flush so much, but  _ stars, _ you can’t help it.

He nods one more time before turning back to the ship’s ramp and engaging it. A gust of frigid wind whips through the hull and you scramble to bring the thin blanket closer to you as you watch him exit the ship without another glance.

____________________

Everything is great so far, you think. It’s been about a day since the Mandalorian left on his hunt and you spent the time entertaining the little green child. He’s funny, he especially enjoys a good round or three of hide and seek, followed by a ration packet of his own and begging for bites of yours. 

On day two, you’re exploring the ship. You find an on-board carbonite chamber, which is pretty convenient. You’ve inspected the control panel for it and it’s probably the only part of the ship that isn’t actually falling apart. 

You return to your work on the nav panel upgrades you got interrupted during a few days ago. It takes a few hours, but you manage to finish the work and you head up to the cockpit to check it out. 

The space is small, two cramped chairs and a mess of control equipment. You take a seat in the pilot's chair and inspect the dash, locating the nav system and booting it up. Everything appears to be in order with it, so you power it back down to conserve energy. 

You lean back in the seat and stare up at the ceiling. The boredom is starting to kick in as you move to leave with a groan. The kid has been napping and it’s time to get dinner into the both of you.

In the hull, the child plays with a little silver ball, rolling it to you so that you can return it back. He claps when you catch it, and his joy makes you smile. Eventually he gets tired of the game, toddling over to you and crawling into your lap with his eyes already halfway to drooping shut. You place him back in the little orb, arranging his blankets for maximum comfort, before shutting it for the night. 

You’re officially alone on the ship, for all intents and purposes. You head back to the little bunk and rifle through the contents of Mando’s pack, hoping to find a shirt you can change into after showering. A black long sleeved tunic is shoved at the bottom of the bag and you snag it, taking it with you to the fresher. 

The space is cramped, barely enough room for you to move about and get undressed. There’s a mirror situated high on one wall, which you think makes sense for the Mandalorian, but you can see from about your forehead down to your nose. 

You try your best to detangle your hair with your fingers before hopping into the lukewarm water and scrubbing the grease and sweat of the last few days from your skin. There’s a bar of soap that smells like a spice you can’t name, and an image of a faceless man with broad shoulders, a slim waist, and strong legs soaping himself up after a tough hunt enters your mind. You groan as a wave of arousal floods through you, your hand sneaking down your belly to rub briefly at your clit. 

The image evolves, and the man you’ve conjured to be the Mandalorian pins you in place to the fresher wall with his bulk. It’s his hands on your body now as you work quickly to bring yourself to your peak. It’s the thought of his deep voice whispering a throaty  _ good girl _ right into your ear that sets you off, moaning as the relief moves through you. It’s a short lived satisfaction, and you’re blushing as you try to catch your breath.

The water has turned too cold for you to bear anymore, so you shove off the wall to turn it off. There’s a towel hanging off a hook in a little cubby that you use to quickly pat yourself dry before tugging on the tunic and pulling your own pants back on. You skip the underwear, the thought of putting it back on after showering makes you uncomfortable, and you hope that one of the stops that Mando has to make is at least to a populated planet where you can buy some more. 

You hunt around the cargo for a bit and come up with a couple more thin blankets that you toss on the cot, burrowing into them before you’re out like a light.

____________________

The Mandalorian returns late that evening, bounty in tow, snow sticking to his beskar armor. He’s tired, his back aches, and he wants this kriffing man to shut up already. He quickly boards the Crest, loads the man into the carbonite chamber as he tries to bargain for his life, and shuts the ramp. 

He’s in the hull for a few minutes, unloading his weapons into the armory, when it strikes him that it’s cold. Colder than the ship ought to be, considering the heating element has been running for two days. He moves to inspect the control panel, and sure enough the heating element is flashing. He groans, not prepared to deal with this right now. All he wants is to get this armor off and get in bed. 

He figures he can survive one night. He’s removing his armor, top to bottom, starting with the chest plate, until he’s down to his flight pants and tunic. He’s moving towards his bunk, hands coming up to take off the helmet once he notes that the child’s pram is shut, when he stops. 

Right. The girl. The girl that is currently bundled up in his cot, shivering her sleep. He shuts his eyes, tipping his head back to groan at the ceiling. It’ll be too cold in the cockpit, even for him. He’s still debating what to do when your eyes blink open and see him standing there. 

“S’cold,” you murmur, and it tugs a little at his resolve. You look soft, warm, and he honestly wants nothing more than to crawl in next to you, but he’s not going to force that on you. “C’mere,” you continue, reaching your arm out. He sucks in a breath, not sure what to do. You’re asking him for exactly what he wants to give but you’re half asleep, eyes barely open. 

You shove yourself up, a strong shiver wracking your body as you reach out and grasp his hand, attempting to tug him in. He moves to plant a knee on the cot.

“Are you sure?” He asks. You’re already laying back down, turning on your side and shuffling further into the wall to make room for him. He crawls into the space you’ve made. 

“Helmet?” You ask. He’s not sure what you mean by that. “Not comfy.”

“I can’t take it off. You can’t see my face.”

“Won’t look...s’dark in here, with the light off,” you argue. He debates whether it’s a good idea. Your breath has already deepened, evening out as you begin to fall back asleep. 

He reasons that maybe you’re right...maybe it’s dark enough to take off the helmet. He shuts off the light and hits the button for the door, too, just in case any light from the hull seeps through. He removes the helmet slowly and reaches up to store it in a cubby above the cot. He gives it a moment for his eyes to adjust, waiting to see if he’s able to see anything more than the shape of you in the pitch black, but nothing ever comes. He even waves a hand in front of his face, but if it weren’t attached to him, he really wouldn’t know it was there.

His exhaustion catches up to him at that point and he lays on his side, putting as much space between the two of you as possible, before dragging your pile of blankets over himself. He shuts his eyes, and sleep comes quickly.

____________________

You’re so warm. It’s amazing. You try burrowing deeper into the warmth, when you hear a noise behind you, and a hand grips your hip. 

“Stop moving,” a sleepy voice commands. An unmodulated voice. 

The unmodulated voice of the Mandalorian.

The haze of sleep suddenly leaves you all at once as your eyes widen, staring into the darkness at what you’re assuming is the wall of the bunk space. The hand on your hip drags you closer, so much so that you now feel his warm breath on your neck. Your pulse kicks up a notch and you bite your lip, willing yourself not to tense up and ruin this cuddling thing he’s decided to bless you with. 

You don’t even know when he got back to the ship, or why he’s sleeping in here with you, but  _ stars,  _ you also don’t care. The hand on your hip shifts, catching the edge of your tunic ( _ his tunic  _ your mind hisses back) his sleep warm fingers splaying wide across your tummy. His hand is so large, the edge of his thumb grazes just at the bottom of your breast and you dig your teeth deeper into your lip to stop the moan from coming out of you.

His hips shift, half hard cock dragging against your ass and he hisses a breath out against your neck. You clench your thighs together for some semblance of relief for the pressure building your core. They slip against each other and a tiny whine gets caught in your throat. 

His mouth is exploring your neck now, lips parting to drag his teeth against your skin and the sensation is so good it makes you want to  _ cry. _

“Tell me to stop,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” You’d literally rather die than have him stop touching you and leave you so wanting like this. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you whisper back, pressing against his length. At your desperate permission, his teeth latch on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Fuuuuuuck,” you pant, back arching. He chuckles into your neck.

His hand moves from under your shirt, coming up to grasp your jaw to turn it towards him. You follow the guidance with the rest of your body, turning around to face him. You can’t see a damn thing but you sure as hell can feel as he lands a kiss to your jaw, shifting his lips around your face until he finds yours. 

The kiss is slow, syrupy, and it’s devastating. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair as one of his hands reaches down to hitch your leg over his hip. His cock drags across your center and you moan into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue against yours and suddenly the kiss is no longer slow. 

You feel like he’s devouring you, and you try to keep up with ferocity in his motions. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he growls at the sensation, his hand coming up to grip your ass to grind against him  _ hard. _

“So fucking cute, laying in my bed last night,” he says into your mouth, shifting to kiss down your neck again. “So fucking warm and soft,” he continues, pinching the skin between his teeth again. It causes you to buck against him and he pulls back. You whine, hands clenching to try to bring his face back to you but he just laughs. 

He nudges your shoulder and you untangle yourself from him, releasing your grip on his hair and removing your leg from his hip. The loss of his length pressed against your center makes you whine, and he moves quickly beneath the blankets to drape his body over yours. One of his thighs nudges between your legs and your head tips back with a breathy moan. 

“Stars, I bet you’re a fucking vision, wish I could see, pretty little thing like you squirming around for me,” he grits out. His head dips down, mouth latching to your breast and teeth nipping none too gently to your nipple. It makes you cry out, back arching, and you feel yourself getting even wetter, which you were certain was impossible. “You wet for me? You’re so desperate, bet you’re soaked, huh?”

“Mhmmm,” you moan out. His hand slips down your abdomen, snaking under the waist of your pants and he teases the coarse hair there for a moment before slipping one thick finger down to tease at your wet folds. With a groan, you feel his forehead drop to your chest and you cry out as his finger circles your sensitive clit. “M-more, please, please.” You beg, hips bucking into his hand. 

“Greedy,” he bites out as he slips a finger into your center. “Maker, so fucking tight.” He’s slowly pumping his finger, not nearly enough for how worked up you are. Another pathetic whine leaves your throat and you bring your hands up to wrap around his jaw, tugging his face up to bring your lips to his. 

He eases another finger into you, curling them up as he presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing a painfully slow circle to the nerves that’s not nearly enough to push you over the edge that you feel like you’ve been balancing on since your eyes opened. Without warning, he removes his fingers, ripping his hand from your pants and grabbing your hip to flip you beneath him. 

He shuffles down in the cramped space, his legs bracketing yours as he positions himself closer to your knees. His hands grip your waistband to tear your pants down just to your thighs and he grabs roughly at your ass, hiking your hips up from the bed. 

He desperately wishes he could see something, fucking anything, but it’s so dark and he knows it’s necessary but fuck, he hates it right now. He fumbles with the button of his pants, yanking them down his thighs to expose his cock. He gives it a couple of rough tugs before leaning forward, planting a hand next to your ribs and dragging the head through your dripping folds. 

“Tell me you want it, mesh’la, tell me you want my cock in you,” he demands, forehead dropping to your shoulder blade as he mouths at you through your shirt. You’re nodding, he can feel the movement on the bed, but that’s not enough for him, not for this, he needs to hear you. “No, use your fucking words and tell me how badly you want it.”

“F-fuck, maker, please, p-please put your cock in me, want it so bad,” you manage to beg, wiggling your hips against him. His head leaves your shoulder, nuzzling the hair at the nape of your neck as he positions himself at your entrance and slowly starts to push in. 

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he groans into your neck and you gasp at the sensation and his words. “Oh, is that what you need? Want someone to tell you how good you are?” 

He bottoms out and you’re panting into the cot’s surface, clenching around him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this full before. He’s thick, and long, the head of his cock pressing deliciously up against that spot inside you that leaves you writhing beneath him. 

“P-Please move,” you whisper. He nips at your earlobe, drawing back so that just the tip of his dick is in your snug entrance, before slamming right back in and making your mouth drop open in a silent scream. 

“You’re a fucking dream, so fucking good for me, shit,” he growls, setting a punishing pace that makes tears prick at your eyes. “Feel so good around me, pretty girl, bet you feel even better when you cum.”

You cry out, hands gripping desperately at the blanket underneath you as he keeps pounding into you. You don’t even notice the hand that sneaks under your hips to find your clit, his fingers rubbing rough, messy circles with your slick. It only takes a few swipes of his hand before your walls are fluttering around him. 

“That’s right, good girl, come on, cum for me,” he says, teeth digging into your shoulder as you come undone, clenching tightly to his length as you bury your face into the blanket to scream your release. 

He’s still pumping into you, his pace getting sloppy as he nears his own release. You unclench your fingers from the blanket, turning your head to the side and reaching out to brush against the fingers of the hand by your head. His pace stutters further at the contact, and it’s only a moment later that he collapses to his elbow beside you instead, bringing his face to your neck. 

“Where can I cum, sweet thing, quick,” he groans into your hair. 

“Inside, please, inside, fill me up,” you whisper back. A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s doing just that. 

“Fuck,” he finally groans against your shoulder after a moment where he catches his breath. You huff out a laugh as he slides out of you, toppling over to the unoccupied sliver of cot open to him. A large hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. 

“Why’s it so kriffing cold,” you ask into the quiet. 

“Heat element malfunctioned,” he grunts. He feels you wiggling around on the bed and he turns his head to your dark form.

“Why didn’t you say something, I could have fixed it,” you say, shifting to kneel at the end of the cot. “I’m going to open the door, ok? Promise my eyes are forward.” 

You hear the clang of metal on metal as he retrieves his helmet from somewhere above the cot. Pressing the button for the door, you scoot out of the space, yanking one of the blankets around your shoulders as you make your way to the control panel. 

Pulling his pants up his hips, the Mandalorian follows out behind you, noting that the child’s orb is still sealed shut. He suspects it has more to do with the chill than with still being asleep. 

You’ve got the control panel disassembled, wires pulled out as you work to re-boot the heating element. You dig another wire out of the mess and redirect its power to another portion of the panel. The panel warning for the heat stops flashing and you hear it kick on a moment later.

“There. Might be the easiest fix I’ll see on this hunk of junk,” you mumble. 

“What did you just say?” A modulated voice says from behind you. You jump, turning to find the Mandalorian decked back out in his armor, helmet fixed in place.

“Oh, uh, nothing.” 

“Right. Let’s get off this planet. Grab the kid and come get strapped in.”

You follow his instructions, opening the child’s orb. He blinks up at you and you bundle him into your arms, grabbing some ration bars for the two of you and making your way into the cockpit. 

The Mandalorian is gearing the ship up for take off as you strap into the co-pilot’s seat. You set the child in your lap with one of the ration bars. He chomps away at it with a happy noise. 

“What’s the next stop?” 

“Coruscant.”


	2. coruscant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light catches the surface of the Mandalorian’s beskar as he stalks up to you. He doesn’t stop even when he’s within arms reach, so you scramble backwards until your back hits the wall. You’re clutching the baby to your chest as he stares down at you, chest heaving as he growls out, “What are you doing over here?”
> 
> You debate whether telling him you lost the baby or lying about it would get you in more trouble with him. “I...the child...he...and I-,” you manage to stutter out before there’s an agonized groan from further down the alley. Mando turns his head to the noise before returning his gaze to you.
> 
> “Get back to the ship,” he snaps before he’s moving towards the back of the alley. You’re frozen in place until he shouts back a delayed, “NOW!”
> 
> Alternatively: The reader is a bad babysitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might guess, travel is simply a means to an end for this PWP. Is his space route going to make sense? Probably not. 
> 
> Additional warning for extremely light daddy kink (like, blink and you might miss it, but it may return)

The trip from Hoth to Coruscant is  _ long _ . You’re incredibly thankful that you improved the hyperdrive before this leg of the Mandalorian’s trip. Without it, the ship probably would have fallen out of hyperspace around the 24 hour mark.

You’ve spent most of the time with the child, as the bounty hunter doesn’t seem too keen on holding extended conversation. Mostly he just asks whether you and the kid have eaten yet today.

The answer is obviously always yes, otherwise there would be more crying from the little green guy. You think he just asks because he feels bad about not talking to you, but not bad enough to actually do anything to rectify the situation. 

So, you play with and feed the child, run the occasional diagnostic test on the ancient equipment, and of course obsess over the events of  _ that night _ . Part of you is so glad that nothing is exceptionally awkward between the two of you, but a louder part would  _ very much  _ like it to happen again. 

After four positively endless days of traveling, the Mandalorian finally calls you up to the cockpit to prepare for arrival. You head up the ladder with the kid tucked to your hip, settling into the co-pilot’s chair and strapping in. The child squirms in your lap, reaching for the silver knob on one of the levers. You glance at Mando and he seems distracted enough for you to reach out to try to take the knob off for the baby.

You’ve barely touched the ball when Mando’s hand shoots out lightning quick to grasp your wrist. “What are you doing?”

“The uh...the kid wants the ball,” you say quietly, staring at the side of his helmet. You wiggle your fingers, trying to get him to let go, but he just turns his head to look at you directly. 

“The kid can’t have the ball, he’ll lose it again,” he finally says after a moment, slowly releasing his grip. You let your hand drop back into your lap and the kid lets out a little whine, his head turning between you and Mando. The helmet tilts down to address the child with a stern, “No.” 

“Sorry, little guy. Daddy doesn’t want you to play with ship parts,” you whisper, rubbing his ear between your fingers. He coos with delight, settling back into your lap. 

The Mandalorian freezes, his hand hovering over the hyperdrive control. His brain processes what you just said and his dick twitches painfully in the confines of his pants in response to your choice of words. 

_ Fuck _ , he thinks. That’s not something he needed to learn about himself right this very second.

He redirects his attention to the drop from hyperspace and landing at the spaceport. He’s up and out of the cockpit before you've even unbuckled. The kid turns his face up to you and makes a confused noise. With a shrug, you heft him under an arm and head down to the hull.

Mando is appraising his weapons cache, holding a blaster pistol in one hand and a disruptor in the other. You set the child in his little orb before moving to the control panel and grabbing your bag of tools, dumping the contents out and slinging the empty bag over your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” His voice comes from behind you. You startle at the sound, once again cursing that someone can move that silently decked out in kriffing  _ metal _ , turning to come face to face with his chest plate. 

“I need to get supplies while you’re out,” you say, both hands gripping the strap of your bag and twisting it in your hands. “Which brings me to my next quest-“ 

“No.”

You blink. “No? What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. You’re staying on the ship.” 

You tilt your head to look into the T-visor, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not staying on the ship, Mando. Unless you’re going to leave me on this planet, I’m going to need some stuff to make it through the rest of this little adventure.”

“I’ll get the stuff for you, what do you need?”

“Oh, you’re going to purchase women’s underwear? The big scary bounty hunter needs panties?” You snipe back, crossing your arms defiantly. Maker, you feel like a teenager again.

He’s silent, and you wish you could see his face under the helmet. He pushes past you and grabs a bag from the bunk area, pulling a handful of credits out and turning to shove them straight into your bag. 

“You get what you need and come right back, do you understand me? Do not stay off this ship, especially with the kid, for any longer than you need to,” he says. He moves back in front of the wall of weapons and pulls a large vibroblade from the selection. He holds it out to you. “I need an answer.”

You nod, reaching out for the offered weapon, but he pulls it back from your hand. You tilt your head at him.

“Use your words.”

“Uh, yeah, I understand. Get my stuff, get back to the ship.”

“Good girl,” he says, finally handing the blade over to you. You try willing your face not to flush at the words, turning to give way more attention to shoving the blade into your bag than necessary. He’s turning back to the weapons one more time, pulling the pulse rifle out before shutting the door and moving to the ramp. 

You grab the orb, pulling it behind you. The baby coos, bobbing his head a little in excitement. The two of you follow behind the Mandalorian as he descends the ramp without another glance to you. You turn your head to the child.

“Alright, kid. Let’s do this. Stay close, and stay down, okay?” You say to him. He tilts his head with a little squeak that makes you laugh and you hope to the Maker that the child understands you. 

You follow the same path Mando cut through the spaceport, heading towards the thick of the crowd. The streets are dark, packed with people, but you snake through some openings, heading towards a series of lit stalls further down the road. You check behind you for the pram every few steps, nervous that someone is going to push it from your proximity. 

You find a clothing vendor about five stalls from the start of the market and pick out three pairs of pants, two tunics, and a cloak in case you end up on another frozen planet. The shop owner helps you find some women’s underwear among the piles and gets you settled with the debt before waving you off.

There’s enough credits left for some toiletries, you think, so you wander down the road in search of some. You find a tiny stall with bars of soap and fresher products, picking out a couple of items. The owner convinces you to try out some body oil that smells like what you think is vanilla and he throws it into your bag even as you try to tell him no. 

“Free for the pretty girl,” he winks. You smile back, a little uncomfortable, but he waves you off without further comment. 

“Okay, baby, that should be it. I might survive this trip now,” you say, turning towards the pram.

Except the pram isn’t there.

_ The pram isn’t there.  _

Oh...oh no. This is bad. This is so kriffing bad. You've only been off the ship for about three hours, how could you have messed up this badly? Your head whips in either direction as you rise on your toes to look out in the crowd. You take off running down the street, dodging between people as best you can and shoving past the ones that you can’t with a hurried apology.

Your lungs burn and your legs ache as you come to a stop, looking around desperately for any sight of the pram. Finally, you catch sight of the orb as it turns a corner and you take off at a sprint in its direction. 

You’re turning the corner down a road lined with buildings, rather than market tents, and there’s far less light over here. Your pulse jumps and you have to pause again.

“Where  _ are  _ you, baby?” You mutter, swiping at the hair stuck to the sweat on your forehead. You move forward, looking down the alleys that you pass for the pram. 

Finally, thank the Maker, you see him. He’s at the mouth of an alley and you bolt after him before he moves again. 

“What are you doing, kid?! I’ve been chasing you forever, why did you disappear like that? You almost gave me a heart attack!” You hiss out, grabbing him under his tiny arms and holding him up to your face. “We don’t run away like that!”

He’s cooing at you excitedly, arms waving around. You obviously can’t be expected to stay mad at the little guy. There’s a loud yell behind you, followed by a thump and a groan. You immediately turn towards the noise, clutching the baby to your chest with one arm why you try to dig through your bag for the vibroblade.

The light catches the surface of the Mandalorian’s beskar as he stalks up to you. He doesn’t stop even when he’s within arms reach, so you scramble backwards until your back hits the wall. You’re clutching the baby to your chest as he stares down at you, chest heaving as he growls out, “What are you doing over here?”

You debate whether telling him you lost the baby or lying about it would get you in more trouble with him. “I...the child...he...and I-,” you manage to stutter out before there’s an agonized groan from further down the alley. Mando turns his head to the noise before returning his gaze to you.

“Get back to the ship,” he snaps before he’s moving towards the back of the alley. You’re frozen in place until he shouts back a delayed, “NOW!”

You hold the child in your arms, not daring to let him out of your sight again, as you rush from the alley. You grab the pram to tug it along behind you as you try to get out of there as fast as possible, retracing your panicked path from the market back to the ship. 

It takes a solid hour to work your way back to the Crest. You didn’t even realize how far your chase had taken you and it makes you glare down at the top of the baby’s head. Once you board the ship again, you set the child in the pram and hand him a ration bar. It lights up his face and he inhales it in a couple of bites, making you laugh, anger at his antics fading away. In a matter of minutes, the kid is passed out, snoring among his blankets. You shut the orb and push it to a safe spot in the hull. 

Now that you’re alone in the ship with no distractions, your anxiety sets in. You’re already on thin ice with the bounty hunter, having accidentally become a crew member that he never signed up for and coupled with almost losing his green alien child, you’re absolutely convinced you’re about to be abandoned on Coruscant of all places.

You climb up to the cockpit, intent on getting yourself out of the way in the hull to avoid another confrontation with the Mandalorian as soon as he returns. 

You’re still in the pilot’s seat some hours later, bent over one of the computer systems and trying to determine if it needs an update (it does), when you hear the ramp engage. The sound of two unmodulated voices filters through the ship, one of which is begging for mercy while the other offers up a higher sum of credits to be freed before you hear a series of grunts and the hiss of the carbonite chamber. 

The ship goes quiet after that. You hear small movements from below, like the drag of the armory door opening and closing. You’re holding your breath, praying that maybe he’s forgotten your exchange or at least had time to cool off significantly. 

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and you feel, rather than see or hear, his presence at the back of the seat. You let out a shaky breath as gloved hands curl around the headrest and swivel the chair around to face him.

He’s closer to you than you expected, and you have to tip your head up to take him in. Slowly, his hands come to rest on the armrests, caging you into the space. 

He’s just...watching you. He doesn’t move any further, doesn’t make a sound besides the rasp of his breath through the vocoder, and it feels like you’re in a standoff that you’re destined to lose.

So, you decide to play your hand first. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking. He still doesn’t say anything back, but one hand leaves the armrest to rest on your knee, causing your breath to hitch. His grip goes tight for a brief moment before he slides his hand up the inside of your thigh, stopping right before he reaches your center and gripping the flesh  _ hard. _

“Tell me to stop,” he says. You’re still staring up at the helmet, and your mind goes staticky as you remember the last time he said those words. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“You know I’m not going to. I’d let you touch me whenever you want,” you whisper. He groans as his other hand lands on your opposite thigh. 

“Why?” 

Your face twists in confusion. That’s a loaded question. You’re not entirely sure why you would let this near stranger touch you, much less fuck you, but your draw to him is undeniable. You shrug. 

“You make me feel safe,” you tell him. It’s true, you realize. You've watched him care for his tiny foundling, making sure he’s fed and happy, as well as being kind to you despite the situation that has thrown you together. “You make me feel good.”

The helmet tips down to rest on the crown of your head. You hear him take a ragged breath through the vocoder before he drops to his knees in front of the seat, the sudden sound of beskar hitting durasteel making you startle. He yanks you to the edge of the chair with his arms wrapped under your knees. 

“You gotta close your eyes, pretty thing, can I trust you to keep them closed for me?” He rasps out. You shut your eyes tightly, nodding furiously. “Good girl.”

A quiet moan leaves your lips as his hands leave your legs to come up and remove his helmet. The helmet gets placed somewhere on the ground and then his hands are back, curling into the waist of your pants and tugging them to your ankles. Your boots stop his progress and he brings his head back up between your spread legs. 

You’re spending so much of your focus trying to make sure you don’t open your eyes that you don’t even realize how close he is to your center until he’s licking from your entrance to your clit and you gasp at the sensation. Unlike the last time you had gotten to experience him without his helmet, his chin is stubbled with a couple days of growth and the burn of it is amazing.

“Fuck, so good,” he groans into you as he begins to set a pace, spending just enough time to your clit to get your hips grinding against his face before he pulls away, giving more attention to your leaking entrance. You bring a hand down to rest on his head, fingers curling into his hair and tugging in a desperate effort to get him back to where you need him. 

He pulls off completely, hand coming up grip roughly at your thigh before a finger drags through your slit. He’s still got his gloves on, your slick coating the leather surface and the image you make in your mind makes you blush as you writhe against him. He pulls both hands away to remove the gloves, and without the support your legs collapse around him, bound ankles resting on his back. 

Once the gloves are off, he’s gripping your thighs above the knee to spread your legs before he’s diving back in with his sinful mouth without further preamble. 

He’s pulling back again a moment later, sliding a finger into your entrance while he groans out, “Come on, sweetheart, wanna hear you.”

You whimper as one finger becomes two and he curls just right, sending sparks up your spine and making you cry out, louder than you had meant to. You slap a hand across your mouth but it’s only there for a moment before he reaches up to yank your hand away with a growl right to your clit.

He doesn’t let up his assault on your pussy and before your brain can even catch up with your body, you’re begging him to let you cum, breathless as you tell him that you’re so close.

His lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking out mercilessly as you clench around his fingers and cry out to the ceiling of the cockpit. He licks at you gently through your release, until your hips have stopped squirming underneath him, before he’s removing his fingers and ducking out from between your legs. 

Your head is thrown back against the chair as you try to catch your breath. It doesn’t register in your post-orgasm brain that the man below you is working to remove your boots and pants, flinging them to the side before he stands, helmet fixed in place, and reaches out to slide one arm beneath your knees and wrap the other around your back.

He’s lifting you up, the motion making you startle, before he’s seated in the chair and folding you into his lap with your legs spread on either side of his hips. You’re staring wide eyed at the T-visor of his helmet as he moves to release himself from the confines of his pants. He’s rock hard in his hand, the tip of cock flushed a pretty rosy pink that has you licking your lips. 

It suddenly occurs to you this is the first time you’ve actually seen each other’s bodies and you feel yourself flood with another wave of need for the man below you. Without breaking eye contact with him (or at least what you assume is eye contact, given the helmet), you bring your palm up to your mouth, licking your hand and bringing it down to circle his length. He groans, head tilting back against the seat at the sensation. 

“Didn't get to see you, last time,” you whisper. “You look so good in my hand, Mando, so fucking big.”

“F-fuck,” he managed to stutter, hips bucking into your grip. “Can’t say stuff like that, pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Isn’t that the point?” You ask, twisting your grip at the head, collecting the bead of precum into your palm as you slide back down. 

He  _ whines.  _ The Mandalorian actually  _ whines.  _ The sound goes straight to your head and you smirk at him when he tilts his head back down to you. 

“No, mesh’la, the point is for me to cum in this pretty little pussy of yours,” he says, gripping your neck with one hand as he uses the other to pull your hand away from his cock. He holds himself, urging you to lift yourself on your knees a bit before he’s sliding the tip between your folds and making you shiver. He presses up inside you, just a bit, and you fall forward to press your forehead to his helmet. 

“Maker, Mando, stop teasing, please fuck me,” you pant. His hands wrap around your hips to pull you down on his length in one smooth thrust that has you gasping, back arching to press yourself against him as your fingers dig into the pauldrons of his armor. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so fucking tight, this all for me?” He asks, urging your hips to rock against him. You nod, letting out a quiet whine at the sensation of being stretched so thoroughly. “You’re a fucking vision like this, so fucking pretty squirming in my lap. Wish I could have seen you like this the last time.”

You pull back to look into his helmet as you set a pace for your hips, biting your lip as you feel him pressing to the same devastating spot inside you that his fingers had found. One of his hands leaves your hips to move under your shirt, snaking up your tummy to grasp at one of your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers. You moan, your pace increasing with the new sensation. 

“Please, please, please,” you start to beg as he plants his feet and begins to meet your thrusts with his own. The sensation is almost too much to bear, too fucking good and so all consuming. His hand leaves your breast to tear the shirt off you, yanking it over your head and tugging you closer to his chest, the cold metal of his beskar causing your nipples to tighten. His hand comes back to your neck, gripping you tightly to use for leverage as he slams into you.

“Come on, not gonna fill you up until you cum on my cock,” he grunts. Tears prick your eyes at how  _ good  _ he feels, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your entire body lights up with your second orgasm. “Yes, fuck, thats it, thats my good girl.”

You’re boneless as he continues to pound into your sensitive cunt. Your hands move from his shoulders to find an opening in his armor so that you can dig your fingers into flesh and make him feel you. 

“Mando, please, need you to cum, need to feel it,” you mewl, cheek pressed to his helmet. His hips stutter, pace faltering for a few more thrusts until he spills inside you. 

He slumps back against the chair, hand leaving your neck to wrap around and hold you to his chest. Your chests are heaving as you both fight to catch your breath. His hand starts to move up and down your back, and the gesture makes you smile. 

You’re both quiet for a long time. He’s gone soft inside of you, but you don’t think you can trust your legs enough to move off of him. His hold on you makes you think he doesn’t want you to, anyways. 

Eventually, you lean back to look at him. “Hey, Mando?” 

“Mmhmm?”

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me for earlier?” You ask timidly. He’s quiet for a moment before a laugh filters over the vocoder. 

“No...no, I’m not mad at you,” he murmurs before pressing you back to his chest.


End file.
